


Of Thieves and Pranksters

by Angel_Leanielsa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Darcy Lewis, Care packages, Clint Barton Can Bake, Clint Barton is a bit of a jerk, Deaf Clint Barton, Dubious Science, F/M, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, POV Clint Barton, Pranked cat, Prankster Darcy Lewis, Scientist Wrangler Darcy Lewis, The medical kind, Warning: This author does not know how to properly tag, but like only half, but only briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28477428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Leanielsa/pseuds/Angel_Leanielsa
Summary: It starts with a Thief stealing a treasure, follows with a Prankster getting her revenge and ends with Love conquering their hearts.---------------------Clint pisses off Darcy by stealing her iPod. She retaliates by pranking him.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis, Darcy Lewis & Natasha Romanov, Darcy Lewis & Tony Stark, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis
Kudos: 38
Collections: 2020 Marvel Holiday Secret Santa





	Of Thieves and Pranksters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caitriona_3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/gifts).



> Hi! This is my first ever posted fic. I am actually late, so I'm really sorry for that. Schedules are not my forte. i do apologize for any cursing or swearing. Please enjoy and I wish you all a happy New Year! (Also, Merry late Christmas!)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of anything, but the plot.

In Clint’s defence, he had only been following orders. It certainly wasn’t his fault nobody had bothered warning him that there were consequences to stealing from one Darcy Lewis. Nor was it his fault that some random lackey hadn’t been thorough enough in his background check of the woman, or when he had drawn up her profile. How was he supposed to know that he was doomed the moment he had taken her iPod?

It started only a two days after Puente Antiguo. Due to the nature of such an event, Coulson and his team had been asked to remain behind in order to clean up the whole mess (read: cover it up like the shady organization they are). So of course, Clint had been included. When informed, he hadn’t been pleased. How, exactly, was he expected to tolerate New Mexico’s unbearable heat when he was required to wear the standard uniform at all times? Clint wasn’t Coulson, he was a normal – as normal as an assassin wielding a bow and arrow could be – human being. And he had no interest in becoming a robot like his handler. Point is, Clint Barton, internationally recognized as the best archer (take that Oliver Queen!), a clearance level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, would rather have to deal with a month of paperwork than have to stay any longer in bumfuck nowhere New Mexico. Yes, he knew he was being overly dramatic. No, he didn’t care. He’ll complain all he wants, he doesn’t deserve this kind of torture. Could things get any worse?

In hindsight, the archer really should have known better than ask such an idiotic question. He had been practically begging for a catastrophe. What, exactly, he had been thinking the universe would never know. He had jinxed himself and anyone who happened to be anywhere near him when karma struck. So really, it’s only natural that he’d be rudely awakened by some monster trying to claw his eyes out.

Some great, big, hulking beast covered in ginger fur and what seemed to be white feathers coated with some shimmery liquid was looming over him. Its claws seemed sharper than Natasha’s nails, even sharper than her knives. They gleamed in the morning light peeking from the open window. Clint imagined they could cut through anything, maybe even Captain America’s vibranium shield. Its yellow eyes sent a shiver down his spine. He remembered reading the tales about a woman with snakes for hair who could petrify her victims with one look.*1 He wondered if she and the creature were kin. Its slit pupils looked as if they were gazing into the very depths of his soul. Its tailed stood tall, ready to strike any enemies. Or at least, that’s what it seemed to him.

A sleep addled brain can easily thwart one’s perception of things. As such, we really should forgive the poor agent for the misunderstanding. Anyone could have made the same mistake. Definitely. Most likely. Maybe. Ok, yeah, not at all. No really, who confuses a poor unlucky cat with some mighty dangerous beast? Clint was lucky most of the agents had emptied from the surrounding barracks. Especially considering the fact that the high-pitched shrieks had not been flattering and that S.H.I.E.L.D. rumour mill was much too efficient for anyone’s reputation to ever remain fully intact. His had suffered enough from Budapest.

He fell off the bunk-bed with yelp. Great, now he’d have to deal with a sore bum for the rest of his stay in the already unbearable base. Not even a second had passed before the aforementioned monster cat leaped on its prey. Another manly scream (read: very female-sounding shriek) clawed free from his throat. (In an undisclosed location, a certain brunette was impersonating the emoji often associated with one laughing their ass off. In the corner, you her, as of a few days ago, best friend was looking at her worriedly. If she was being honest with herself, she feared for her life, or rather, whichever poor soul thought it wise to piss her off. Unfortunately, she had a bit of an idea as to who it was.) 

Having somehow temporarily escaped the feline’s, in his opinion, unwarranted wrath, Clint perched himself on the closet leaning on the wall parallel to bed. Being finally able to take a good look at the thing that had attacked, the archer felt embarrassed. He wondered how he had managed to confuse a cat with a monster. On the ground, with its tail raised high in alert and its fur bristling, stood the tabby hissing at the archer. He could easily see now that the animal had somehow ended up covered in what appeared to be glittery chicken feathers. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say that whoever had orchestrated this heart-attack inducing prank, had used glitter glue to stick the damn things to the feline. He couldn’t for the life of him figure who could have possibly entered his sleeping quarters without waking him up, slipped an angry and unfortunate cat inside and...laced his room with catnip!? What the Hell? What kind of agent was stupid, but smart enough to pull this off? If it was even an agent at that. 

He shook his head. It couldn’t have been anyone from the outside. No one there was good enough to be able to do this and not get caught. And even if they were, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have hired them already. No, it had to be someone from inside. Even then, the list wasn’t that long and none of the remaining agents would even dare do anything to anger him for fear of the consequences. Not that he’d be allowed to do anything without Coulson’s permission. It certainly wasn’t the latter either. Clint didn’t even think his handler had that kind of humour. Even if he’d heard stories of his and Agent May’s exploits from back at the Academy. He couldn’t risk accusing him, his boss was just a tad bit too cruel in his punishments for him to take that chance.

The archer sighed. It was useless to figure out on whom he was going to exact his revenge on if he was still unable to safely walk around his own temporary room. And using the vent system would only give the cat ideas. No need to further complicate things. With a resigned sigh, Clint leapt off the closet and mentally prepared himself for the upcoming claw marks that would grace his skin. Those that would probably rival those he’d received from neighbour’s hellcat. 

His feet hadn’t even touched the floor and the ginger-furred creature had jumped to attack its prey. The next few minutes, the prankster had the, uh, pleasure to assist through hidden cameras to one of, if not, the most intense game of cat and mouse. Or rather, cat and hawk. It lasted until Clint finally got his hands around his target’s middle. Despite his defeat, because it was definitely male, tabby cat continued to try and attempt to claw his captor’s eyes out. The latter didn’t look amused. 

With a look of annoyance at the animal in his hands, he stalked up to the window, shoved the cat out and closed it. Angry yowls could be heard through the bullet-proof glass. Clint didn’t even spare it a glance. What a mess. Why did it always have to be him that dealt with this kind of stuff? Why couldn’t he sleep in peace? With a one last mournful look at his bed, he resigned himself to spending the rest of his day ridding his room of the overbearing sent of catnip. 

And so it began. For the following days remaining to his stay in Puente Antiguo, Clint dealt with numerous pranks. Some worse than others. Although, two constants remained: they always happened when he was least expecting them (which was saying something for an agent of his calibre) and there was never a single clue as to who was the culprit. As a result, unless it was Coulson, the archer was on alert around any and all inhabitants of the base. No agent could walk into a room without him knowing they were there. Dammit, where were those instincts when the mysterious prankster committed their duplicitous acts? 

It didn’t stop there, no siree. It followed him all the way to the Helicarrier. And that was in the air! The only reprieve he got was from his assignments. Which is why he took the guarding Doctor Selvig for Phase 2 (whatever the hell that was) mistakenly assuming he’d finally get a break. Needless to say, he was wrong. It only seemed to get worse.

Then, Loki happened. 

Stark offered them all a place to stay. Thor left with his brother, Cap went off to explore the 21st century, Banner took the offer and Natasha took off for some assignment or other. And Clint, well, he tried to stay and help out. It didn’t work out. People would glare at him, they’d whisper in his back. A mumbled insult there, an unnecessary shove there. Coulson’s death certainly didn’t help matters either. It just kept escalating. The final straw came when even Hill couldn’t look him in the eye. Of course, at the time, the archer wasn’t aware that it was simply due to the fact that she couldn’t help, but feel guilty lying to him about his handler’s death. As such, he mistook it for her blaming him for what occurred.

Clint moved into Stark Tower only a month and a half after The Battle of New York. 

It was only when he received his first care package that he realized the pranks had stopped. In the numb state he’d been in for the past several weeks, he hadn’t noticed the lack of outlandish stunts his secret prankster would somehow pull. For a second, he felt unbearable grief for losing another piece of normalcy in his life. Anger followed soon after. How dare Loki take this away from him as well? It all vanished as soon as he took the lid off the odd purple box. On the very top, lied a single strip of paper. Two words were inscribed upon it: Get better.

He stared at it. Who would possibly send this? No one in the Tower was close enough, Natasha didn’t do care packages and most of, if not, all of S.H.I.E.L.D. hated him. Looking back inside the box, he could see quite a few items, many of which raised way too many questions. 

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He reached inside the box and pulled out something that seemed to stick to his hand. With a closer looked, he realized exactly what he was holding. For the first time since, well, him, Clint laughed. It wasn’t a I’m-busting-my-gut kind of laugh, but more of a I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening kind of laugh. 

In his hand was a cluster of white feathers, stuck together with what appeared to be some kind sticky liquid. Glue, he’d say if he had to hazard a guess. The sender couldn’t have sent a more obvious clue about their identity, even if they’d tried. Guess his prankster did care. Although, he was curious as to how the mischief maker had come to know about his less than stellar mental state. Unless it truly was an agent.

He scoffed bitterly, as if any of them would do anything less than putting a bullet through his skull. There was absolutely no way any of them had sent this. None of them would have sent him some relaxing tea, a box of fruit-flavoured pop-tarts, an oversized purple woolly with a big white “H” that looked hand-knitted, a matching pair of fluffy socks, a box of chocolate and...what on Earth was that?

At the very bottom of the box lay a black leather cord tied together with a knot. Picking it up, he noticed something hanging from it. With a closer look, he was able to see what seemed to be an old fashioned arrow head. Its silver tip gleamed in the morning light. Unlike most, it wasn’t perfectly made and polished. It was chipped, as if it had been used repeatedly. He squinted at it. Either it was a fake or this individual had some very odd hobbies. That his thoughts made him sound like a hypocrite did occur to him at the moment. Or maybe he simply wanted to ignore it. Who knows.

This instance wasn’t singular. There was no particular trend that indicated when or if he’d receive a care package, as he’d come to call them. The only defining trait seemed to be that it’d be when he was having a bad day. Each of them contained a reminder to some previous prank. One very memorable box contained a jar of spiders. Yeah, a bit traumatizing that one. It seemed that, even if his prankster wanted him to get better, they were still pissed about something. Only issue is, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what he’d done.

Months went by. In that time, Natasha came back. She seemed suspicious about whatever Clint had going on, but since it seemed to make him feel better, she left it alone for now. Cap finally moved in. It was tense for the first few days, but he and Stark seemed to settle on some agreement or other. His partner had a certain glint in her eye, so the archer felt it better not to ask. Her schemes were better left in her head. Banner seemed to get out of his shell more and joined them for a, uh, team bonding night. Which was often just all of them eating dinner together and then watching movies until one of them decided enough was enough. Thor, on the other hand, still resided on Asgard for the moment. He came down to Earth (or Midgard as he called it) once every two to three weeks to visit his girlfriend and to check up on his “Shield-brothers” and “Shield-sisters”.

Speaking of said girlfriend, she and her fellow people had been moved into the Tower. Stark had felt it safer than some S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. With Coulson gone, he didn’t trust them to keep the scientists and the assistant safe. It was only a matter of time before Clint bumped into one of them. Even if he’d already met Doctor Selvig, Doctor Foster and Darcy Lewis beforehand in Puente Antiguo, he had a feeling seeing them again might not go as well as he’d expect. On an other note, it seemed his secret mischief maker had decided that his mental and overall health was good enough for him to get pranked again. Would it be wrong to pretend to be depressed? (If he secretly loved them despite their humiliating factor, then that was his business alone.)

And lo and behold, Clint was right. In fact, it was even worse than imagined. Doctor Selvig seemed weary around him if nothing else. Doctor Foster didn’t even seem aware of his presence. And then there was the illustrious Miss Lewis. In hindsight, calling her an assistant may not have been his best moment. Needless to say, he’d learned a few important lessons that day. 1. Lewis was nearly as scary as Natasha when pissed. 2. Lewis was a scientist-wrangler and a caretaker. 3. Lewis is very graphic when describing what she’ll do to you. 4. Staying away from Foster’s lab and just any of its inhabitants altogether may just save his life.

Unfortunately, as luck would have it, lesson 4 may not be as applicable as desired. Foster was around Thor anytime he wasn’t on Asgard and Lewis wasn’t a scientist-wrangler for only Foster and Selvig. It seemed that she also dealt with Tony and Bruce (when he they became “Tony and Bruce” instead of “Stark and Banner”, Clint wouldn’t be able to tell you). Considering the fact that the billionaire was the one in charge of weapon engineering and fixing their weapons, he was bound to bump into her at some point. Boy, that should have probably been avoided at all costs.

When the lab doors slid open, a wave of AC/DC seemed to slam into him. He fumbled with his hearing aids to lower the sound input. He was already half-deaf, no need to make it worse. Once the sound was at a moderate level, he properly looked around. 

He blinked.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was seeing. Tony’s lab was in its usual chaos with DUM-E trying (and failing) to helpfully assist his creator and with U as well as Butterfingers playing what seemed to be a game of ball in the emptiest corner. Bits and pieces were strewn around the place. There was a table dedicated to empty mugs, most likely having previously contained. All of that was normal. At least, as normal as anything belonging to the genius can be. What really threw him for a loop was Tony himself. Clint wasn’t quite sure what was he was doing and...oh dear God, was that Lewis?

For whatever reason, the genius seemed to be rushing his work, as if he had somewhere else to be. With a glance at the scientist-wrangler, he shrunk back. She did not seem pleased. Her arms were crossed, putting emphasis on her very full breasts. He chose not to focus on that, mainly for his own safety. She was also insistently tapping her right foot. Loathe as he is to admit it, for fear of her retribution, she was actually quite beautiful when angry. 

“Times up, Tony. No more engineering for you today.”

Clint blanched. Nobody told Tony to stop doing anything, especially not when it came to his lab and his tinkering. He remembered clearly the tongue lashing Cap got for interfering. The star spangled hero apparently hadn’t been back since. The archer feared what would become of Lewis.

To his eternal surprise and shock, the genius put down his tools with a resigned sigh. He had listened. He actually listened to this tiny and scary woman and he’d stopped. What. The. Hell. If Clint had any doubt concerning her title, he didn’t anymore. No wonder Pepper trusted Lewis so much. 

“How’d you do that?” he blurted out. 

Two sets of eyes turned his way. Distantly, he noticed that the music had stopped. Maybe he should have come back some other time, where he wouldn’t have to deal with the unknown (AKA Miracle worker Darcy Lewis). He winced. Blurting that out may have also been a bad idea.

Tony’s eyes seemed to light up, as if he’d successfully avoided another board meeting. 

“What d’you need Katniss? A new bow, new arrows? Or did you break your hearing aids? Give me an hour, two tops, they’ll be done.” 

He seemed to be bouncing on the balls of his feet. Lewis, he noticed with a nervous glance, seemed pissed. Clint wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He really needed to get his bow fixed, he couldn’t risk receiving an Avengers Alert and not being able to go out. It was his job to watch his teammates’ backs, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if one of them got injured because he wasn’t there to watch their six. Then again, he could come back tomorrow and avoid Lewis’ wrath. What to do, what to do.

“Well?” Lewis asked with a tone full of impatience.

He gulped. “I, uh, came to drop my bow so Tony can repair it, but I can definitely come back tomorrow.” He glanced at her nervously. “Yeah, I’ll come back tomorrow. Sorry to disturb you Lewis.” He made to leave. 

Lewis held up a hand. She looked at him calmly. He couldn’t help but feel that she was even more pissed.

“First of all, it’s Darcy, not Lewis Clint. I’m not going to be on last name basis with a guy that lives inside the same building as me. Second of all, anytime you need something fixed or done you will go through me. I will not have Tony overworking himself because you guys can’t be smart enough to not break your stuff. Especially not if it’s from some iPod thief.” She ended her tirade with a huff and a pout. It was really cute if he was being honest. He wasn’t going to tell her that though. They’d all heard of how she’d tased Thor of all people. 

He bristled a bit. “It’s so not my fault that Doom’s little army of robots destroyed my bow. Not all of us squishy humans have access to indestructible shields or a suit of armour.” 

That apparently the wrong thing to say.

Her eyes narrows and her knuckles turned white. “Yeah, well I don’t see ‘Tasha needing her Widow Bites repaired all the time. Or any of her gear really. As I understand it, she’s also ‘squishy human’ and she has no problem defending herself against all sorts of things and people without ‘indestructible shields or a suit of armour.’” She added quotation marks with her fingers. He knew he should just apologize, shut up and walk out, but sometimes Tony’s nickname ‘birdbrain’ was just too accurate.

“‘Tasha? Who gave you the right to call her that? Besides, Nat’s an exception. And I don’t break my stuff all the time, I can’t always reuse my arrows. This is also the first time in months that I need my bow fixed, so don’t talk without knowing the facts.” Not his greatest moment, but she had no right to judge based upon a few separate instances. She was right in saying that it was wrong for Tony to overwork himself, but that wasn’t Clint’s fault and he was the last person that would be responsible for that. If anything, it was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fault for asking so much. Every Avenger thanked the genius and reminded him that he was under no obligation to do any of that.

“Oh really? Sure, you’re some great guy that does everything right. You definitely don’t go around taking people’s personal belongings and stealing their life’s work. No, you’re an upstanding citizen, you’re Mr Perfect,” she practically yelled sarcasm coating her every words. 

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m sorry for doing my job properly. While I’m at it, should I apologize for saving your life? If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here complain about things you don’t even understand.” The anger just kept bubbling under his skin. He knew that if he didn’t stop he’d say something he’d regret. His voice raised, he was almost screaming in her face. “At least I have a job! I save lives all the time! What do you do? Huh? You just fool around and are sometimes useful by making sure Tony, Bruce and Foster have some kind of routine.” And there it was, the line he’d crossed. 

The resounding sound of flesh meeting flesh wasn’t surprising. 

Even if he was angry that she’d slapped him, he knew he deserved it. Looking at her, he noticed that her brown eyes were brimming with unshed tears. He resisted the urge to cringe, he didn’t deal well with crying. She was shaking, whether it was because of her anger, because of his words or a mix of both, he didn’t know.

With one last glare his way, she rushed out of the lab. Silence resonated with her departure. Tony didn’t look impressed. In fact, he seemed downright furious. He held his hand out.

“Bow, now,” he said looking as if he were two seconds away from snapping Clint’s neck.

Wordlessly, the archer handed him his prized possession. The genius addressed him one last time, his tone colder than ice.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to fix your bow and then put it away in a secure vault. Until you’ve successfully apologized to her and she’s forgiven you, you’ll be using your original bow, the one S.H.I.E.L.D. made. Now get out of my sight.” He turned his back on Clint.

Knowing a dismissal when he saw one, the archer walked out fiddling with his arrowhead hanging around his neck, his heart heavy with guilt. While he was sick of people wrongly accusing him of things he’d never do, that wasn’t an excuse for what he’d said. He had to make things right. He had been completely out of line and he had to make it up to her.

For the following week, he received glares left and right from all of the Tower’s residents. Even Natasha gave him the cold shoulder. If he didn’t already feel like an ass, he’d definitely had been by now. He knew he had to do something, but he didn’t know what.

It took another full week of being ignored and glared at before he was finally able to formulate a plan. Admittedly, he probably should have needed less time, but he was a bit occupied wallowing in self-pity. Yeah, not his finest moment. All of this to say, he now knew what to do to get Darcy to forgive. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he was pretty sure it was going to be well worth it.

With his plan in mind, he got to work. While he wasn’t a good cook, he was a great baker. Every single day, he baked a different desert. For a whole fortnight, he’d bake something more complicated than his previous attempt. He’d spend a whole night baking in his own kitchen, then he’d sneakily drop it off on her coffee table mere minutes before she’d wake up. 

On his numerous visits, he noticed quite a few of her quirks. How she kept a meticulous schedule for each scientist on her fridge, how each room in her apartment was equipped with some big woolly blanket, most of which with outlandish colours. How there was barely any uncluttered surface, most of them covered in some project or other. He’d noticed a table covered with knitting projects, all of them a familiar shade of purple. He couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it, but he knew it’d come back to him at some point. There was also that memorable Thursday where it’d seemed as if some glitter tornado had passed through. He thought it better not to question it.

While it did seem to improve her mood, he wasn’t a fool enough to believe that he was forgiven, he knew he’d have to do something more. What that something was though, eluded him for quite a while. That is, until today. 

While he wasn’t fully back in their good books, the team was once again civil enough to allow him to eat breakfast in the common area. As such, when a certain brunette walked in singing to herself, it was a bit hard for him not to notice. And that, is when he had his epiphany. He’d suddenly remembered one of her very specific accusations. With that sudden thought, he had to resist crying out “Eureka!”. The archer knew what he’d have to do, what he’d have to sacrifice for the greater good. 

After all this time, Clint Barton was going to become a criminal once again.

He could hear alarms blaring. It would seem that they’d finally caught on to his little deception. He’d known looping the cameras wouldn’t work for the whole thing. No matter, he’d gotten what he’d came for and they were too late. All that was left was for him to escape without getting caught.

Queue a very tense 11 minutes of avoiding highly trained individuals (pfft, yeah right) using quite frankly ridiculous evasive methods and having to sneak through very uncomfortable spaces (vents). With final glance at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility filled with agents running around like headless chickens, Clint hopped on his bike and rode off into the night heading straight for the tower.

Once home, he didn’t waste any time. No need for subtlety this time around, and she did deserve an actual sincere and verbal apology. He didn’t even bother taking the elevator. J.A.R.V.I.S. may be more advanced and capable of speeding up the shaft’s assent, but he was too jittery to be able to calmly to handle staying in a small enclosed space.

A few thousands of steps later, he really wished his common sense would kick in more often. Regaining his breath and gathering up his practically non-existent confidence, he hesitantly knocked on Darcy’s door. When it didn’t open after five long seconds, an irrational spike of fear shot up his spine. Only to dissipate two seconds later when the woman opened the door. She looked at him wearily. She was as beautiful as ever.

He gathered up his wits and nervously asked: “Can I come in?”

She simply looked at him. For a second, a minute, an hour. He couldn’t tell, it could’ve been a millennium for all he knew. Wordlessly, she stepped aside and walked further inside, in direction in what he knew was the kitchen. He closed the door beside himself and proceeded to silently follow her. As he slowly walked, he once again noticed the purple table, as he’d come to call the dinner table covered in purple oriented knitting projects. It just seemed so darn familiar. Especially with the box right beside only a shade or two lighter. 

Why was that so damn familiar? 

Why?

It didn’t make sense. Sure he loved the colour, was practically obsessed with it but...

A look of sudden realization dawned upon his face.

Oh.

Oh. 

Oh, how could he have been so blind?

The iPod, Puente Antiguo, the facility with Selvig, the mysterious access to private information, Natasha’s lack of reaction. It made so much sense!

Without a care for consequences, he rushed in Darcy’s direction. Arrived in the kitchen, he was face-to-face with her. She seemed to be expecting something from him. For the first time, he truly looked at her. How could he have been so blind as to not see this extraordinary woman standing right in front of him? 

He opened his mouth to speak. “Y-.” 

The Avengers Alarm resounded.

Clint glared at the ceiling.

He didn’t care if for the illegality of the matter, Hawkeye was going to commit murder.

A few exhausting hours and many unnecessary injuries later, the Avengers had finally defeated the annoyances that were oversized bugs in Central Park. Unfortunately, some of them were worse off than others. Most notably was the resident archer. With three broken ribs and two cracked along with numerous others such as a pincer piercing his stomach, Clint had to go through extensive surgery and was bedridden for the foreseeable future. Needless to say, everyone was relieved when informed he’d make a full recovery if, and only if, he followed the doctor’s orders. 

Clint only woke up a little over twenty-four hours later. He was groggy, in pain and couldn’t quite feel his left leg. That last thought really woke him up. With a sense of panic he’d never felt before, he quickly lifted himself up, hoping he was wrong. And he was, the only reason he had no feeling in his limb was that a familiar head of brown curls seemed to be using it as a pillow. He also realized how stupid it was of him to do that, the sudden shot of pain was enough proof. He groaned.

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced its way. In what he assumed to be the South-East corner of the room, Natasha sat in a very uncomfortable looking hospital chair reading some french novel. He squinted at it. His French was a bit rusty, but he was pretty sure that the title read “La Jeune Fille et la Nuit” and that the author was some dude named Guillaume Musso. He had no idea what it was about and he wasn’t going to question it. With a snap, the russian woman closed her book and stared at him. She seemed to be satisfied with what she found. She then gave him a pointed look and nodded towards the sleeping brunette. Without another word, she then slipped out of the room.

Clint only had to wait another few minutes for Darcy to wake up. It only took her a few seconds to realize that her pillow was awake. She then launched herself at him, practically hugging the life out of him. It seems his brush with Death has shaken her up quite a lot. Her rushed out accusations of leaving her that she kept mumbling into his shoulder only served to reaffirm that belief. 

After giving her a few seconds, he pushed her away slightly, his ribs were still very much broken. Having obviously seen his reaction and having properly drawn up the right conclusion, a string of apologies sprang forth. He quickly reassured her, telling her that it was fine. 

Finally able to properly look at her, he saw the bags under her eyes. He wasn’t sure she’d had any sleep. He sighed. He still owed her an apology. So he did.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” She seemed perplexed.

“I’m sorry for what I said, it was completely out of line. I’m also sorry for having taken your iPod back in Puente Antiguo, it was wrong. And I’m sorry for worrying you, both with what happened with L-, Thor’s brother and now.”  
She looked at him as if he were crazy.

“You idiot.”

“Huh?” Now it was his turn to be confused.

“I’d already forgiven you for Puente Antiguo long ago. As for what happened in Tony’s lab, the deserts and this more than makes up for it,” she said holding up the iPod Clint had previously retrieved from S.H.I.E.L.D.. “As for worrying, you have no right whatsoever to apologize for that. I’m a worrier and if I want to worry for the man I love, then I will damn well do so.”

She blushed and glanced down at her lap, it seemed that she hadn’t meant to reveal so much. 

Clint, on the other hand, had only one repeating thought running through his head. So, naturally, he said it out loud.

“My prankster loves me.”

With a jolt, Darcy suddenly looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Your prankster?” she asked. She didn’t seem angry if the amused tilt of her grin and the mischievous look in her eyes was anything to go by. She sat down on the small empty space of bed left at his side.

He grinned at her.

“Unless you’re pranking other men you’re in love with and who reciprocate your feelings, then you are my prankster, yes.”

She only seemed to be even more delighted and amused by his odd declaration of love. She straddled his lap and placed her hands on his shoulders without applying any weight, being careful to not aggravate his injuries. 

“Well then, if I’m your prankster, then you’re my thief.” 

He placed his hands on her hips and raised a singular eyebrow at her. “Your thief? I thought you said you’d forgiven me?”

“I have. Doesn’t change the fact that you stole my most prized possession along with my heart shortly after.”

He brought her closer and her forehead was now resting on his. Their breaths intermingled, both waiting for the other to make the first move, never mind that they kept getting closer with every passing second.

“My prankster.”

“My thief.”

And their lips finally met.

It started with a Thief stealing a treasure, followed with a Prankster getting her revenge and ended with Love conquering their hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it. If you've spotted any mistakes, please let me know in the comments section bellow, it'll really help. Also, I do not mind the criticism, as long as it is constructive and respectful. If there's something I could have improved, I'd love to know. I'd really appreciate your thoughts on this. Again, any hate or disrespect you have, please kindly leave it at the door or just close the tab. Thank you! :)
> 
> *1 This passage is referring to Medusa from the Greek myths for those who didn’t get it.  
> As for Natasha's book at the end, I really recommend it. I just started it and already I'm hooked.


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